


Still Standing

by MoonytheMarauder1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (only mentioned I promise), Canonical Character Death, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Drinking, Family Feels, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Percy Weasley is Bad at Feelings, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23101702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonytheMarauder1/pseuds/MoonytheMarauder1
Summary: Percy struggles to find his place amongst his family of heroes. Draco is paying for his past mistakes and isn't about to let those that fought for the light side forget that there are people still suffering. Somehow, they make it work.
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Percy Weasley
Kudos: 44





	Still Standing

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! Yet another fic I'm moving over. :P This is one of my OTPs (and actually the first time I ever attempted the pairing). 
> 
> Warnings for drinking, grief/loss, and mentioned canonical character death

Percy took a large swig of firewhiskey, so accustomed to the burn that he didn’t even flinch. He stared down at his hands, uncomfortable because of the eyes burning into his back. The other patrons of the Leaky Cauldron didn’t seem to understand that he wasn’t a hero like the rest of his family—he was the one Weasley whose contributions to the war effort had been less than admirable. 

They didn’t  _ know _ . They still whispered and pointed excitedly when they recognized his red hair and freckles, still pointed him out to their friends and stopped him on the streets. He picked at the sleeves of his robes. He wasn’t a hero; he didn’t feel like a villain, either. It was complicated, what he felt. 

He downed the rest of his firewhiskey. 

In the end, though, he couldn’t change anything. He couldn’t save Fred. What was done… was done. 

He closed his eyes and took a moment to steady his breathing. It was July now—it had been over two months since his brother died. And while he was doing much better than he had in the early days of grief, there was still that piece missing from his heart. He wondered sometimes if it was his fault, but he knew that that was not what Fred would think. 

Still, it was hard to let the guilt go. 

Percy considered ordering another glass, but decided against it; he hated not being in control of his actions. He made eye contact with Tom the barman and left some coins on the table, then hurried outside. 

The summer heat scorched as soon as he stepped out of the pub into Diagon Alley. He simply bowed his head against the bright light and hurried on his way. He thought about heading home to the Burrow, but realized that he wasn’t ready yet; he couldn’t fake a smile right now. 

He needed someplace quiet and secluded to calm his nerves. He glanced down the street and spotted Ollivander’s a short distance away. Since it was the middle of the summer holidays, there wouldn’t be many student customers, he reasoned—and there were plenty of shelves to hide behind. It was the perfect place to collect himself. 

The little bell above the door jingled as he entered, and he headed straight for the back. He pressed his back up against one of the shelves and closed his eyes, enjoying the cool air on his skin. After a minute, he was able to slow his breathing and his heartbeat evened out. 

“Weasley?”

Percy’s eyes snapped open. To his right stood Draco Malfoy, looking just as shocked to see Percy as Percy was to see him. It only lasted a second; then the cool, indifferent mask slipped into place. 

“Malfoy.” His voice was cold. 

The younger boy lifted his pointed chin. “I didn’t expect to see you here. One would have thought that the new  _ celebrities _ of society wouldn’t be seen with mere commonfolk.” The sneer that accompanied his words was just as detestable as it had been in school. 

Percy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He straightened his spine despite the fact that he was bloody  _ tired _ of fighting. “We’re not like your family. We don’t think we’re any better than anyone else—”

Draco’s laugh was hollow, and his grey eyes lacked emotion. “This world is only for the heroes, Weasley. None of you are even trying to hide that fact.”

Percy took a step back. He ran a hand through his red curls, disbelief coloring his features. “You were a  _ Death Eater! _ ”

Something flickered behind Draco’s eyes. He spread his arms to the side and shook his head slightly. “And that makes me evil?”

Percy’s breath hitched. He thought of all the men and women who’d kept out of the war, afraid of the consequences; he thought of himself, leaving because of his own pride and staying away because he couldn’t face reality. 

He felt a sudden understanding of the man before him; their only difference was that Percy’s family was on the winning side. 

Draco slowly lowered his arms, chest heaving. His outburst seemed to have surprised himself, but the window through which Percy had glimpsed his true feelings had closed. The blond boy straightened his robes and turned slightly away from Percy. 

“Don’t you have autographs to sign?” The words weren’t as biting as they could’ve been.

For some reason, Percy didn’t want the Slytherin to leave with that false impression of him. “I’m not like them,” he blurted out. “I didn’t do the things they did.”

Draco paused and glanced over his shoulder. “The coward in a family of heroes, then? They must be disappointed.”

Percy flushed scarlet as shame flooded him, and he watched the other man leave the shop, his heart heavy. 

  
  


“Percy! There you are, dear.” Molly Weasley’s eyes softened when she saw her third-eldest. “I thought you’d be home an hour ago to help with dinner.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know. I’m sorry I made you wait. I lost track of time in Diagon Alley.”

“Diagon Alley?” Molly’s brown eyes fixed on his, curious. “What were you doing there?”

Percy shrugged as he slipped off his robes, standing in Muggle jeans and an electric blue shirt (he’d thought it hideous when Fred gave it to him one Christmas—now he wore it any chance he got). “I got a drink.”

Molly paused by the sink, her brows raising ever so slightly. “Is everything okay?” she asked carefully. “You don’t normally drink.”

Percy nodded and avoided her gaze.  _ They must be disappointed.  _ “Yeah.”

Molly pursed her lips. “Don’t lie to me, Percy,” she said softly. “I’ve known you too long.”

He scrambled for something to say. Molly’s wrist turned just slightly as she chopped up a carrot, and Percy caught sight of the number printed on her arm. Everyone was born with the number of years they would live if they followed a perfectly healthy life—though the numbers could increase or decrease with a person’s health. 

“Mum,” he said suddenly, “when did you first realize Dad was your soulmate?”

He knew the answer; his father used to love telling them all the story before bed. But it was the distraction he needed. 

Molly’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh. Well, we’d been dating for a while, you know. I fell in love with him. And I… I really hoped he would feel the same way.” She scraped the carrots into a large pot, a tired smile on her face. “There was a war going on then, as I know you’re aware. We didn’t really participate in that one—we were so  _ young _ —but your father… he got hurt when the Ministry was raided one day.”

Molly turned to face her son, tears in her eyes. “I hurried to St. Mungo’s as soon as I heard. His numbers were so low. I knew he needed some of mine, and… I just  _ knew _ , love, it would work if I tried to transfer some of my own years to him.”

“So you did,” Percy finished, “and you realized you’d both chosen each other as your soulmate.”

Molly shot him a smile. “Yes.”

A sudden thought occurred. “Did you ever wonder if you… chose wrong?”

Molly shook her head, sending her red hair flying. “That’s the thing about soulmates, dear. Even if you’ve chosen each other, your numbers can’t transfer unless it’s meant to be. We’ve had our ups and downs, your father and I. But I’ve never faltered in my love for him.”

Percy grinned a little and adjusted his glasses on his nose. It was a powerful story, but right now it only served to remind him that he hadn’t been that brave when his family needed him. What must it have been like to be his mother, so young yet so readily giving someone else years of her life? It was the eternal question. 

“If you don’t mind Mum, I think I’m going to check on George—and the others—now.”

She nodded as she waved her wand, making a knife jump up and chop the remaining vegetables. “Of course, dear. Don’t be up too long, though; it’s nearly time to eat.”

He promised he wouldn’t, and hurried from the kitchen. True to his word, he sought out George. The young man wasn’t hard to find; all he had to do was enter the room Ron was grumpily marching out of. 

“He’s being a prick,” Ron warned him as he passed. 

Percy cracked a small smile. “Of course he is.”

Percy knocked on the door, then stuck his head in. “Hey.”

George turned, half a grin on his face. “Hey. I’d hug you, but I’m so sweaty we’d probably stick together.”

Percy couldn’t help wrinkling his nose—he could certainly smell it. “Can I ask why?”

George shrugged and ran a hand through his damp hair. “Went for a run in the heat. Ickle Ronniekins didn’t seem to understand I wanted space.” He shot Percy a pointed look. 

The elder Weasley rolled his eyes. “You can’t scare me away with that.”

George raised a brow, his eyes, so much like their mother’s, curious. “Fine, then. Come on in.”

Percy obeyed, shutting the door behind him. He surveyed the room for a few seconds, having only glanced in since… since he first moved out. It was odd, to say the least. Nothing like he remembered. 

Half the room, it was clear, was George’s. It was messy and very obviously lived in, with clothes strewn everywhere and half-finished pranking products littering every available surface. The other half was ordinary and tidy, but almost cold—like it was missing something. 

George caught him looking. With a sad smile, he waved his hand over the spare bed. “Welcome to my reality. He’ll never quite be gone, you know?”

Percy nodded. “Yeah.” Then he cleared his throat. “Mum wants us for dinner.”

“Sure. Tell her I’m going to take a quick shower first.” 

Percy promised he would. His brother disappeared into the bathroom, and Percy found himself walking over to Fred’s old bed. There was so much he’d left unsaid. If only he hadn’t stayed away. If only he’d swallowed his pride and come to apologize, he might have been able to make peace with Fred. 

But it was too late now. 

  
  


“Fancy seeing you here again, Weasley.”

Percy closed his eyes. “Malfoy, I’m not in the mood.”

The blond eyed him warily. “Are you going to hex me if I don’t leave?”

Percy blew the hair out of his face agitatedly. “No. Tom’ll kick me out.”

Draco shrugged and slid onto the barstool beside Percy. “I only want a drink, Weasley. We don’t have to talk.”

Though the alcohol was already working its way through his system, Percy turned to the former Death Eater with surprising coordination. “What did you mean last time, about this being a hero’s world?”

Draco ordered a Muggle beer before answering, which surprised Percy. “Honestly, Weasley? I don’t know. It’s not really to do with your family, I suppose.”

Percy took a sip of his drink. “You’re not happy.”

That startled a laugh out of the younger man. “No. Hell, no.”

Percy thought about his own mistakes—how he couldn’t be credited with fighting in the war, not really. He thought about the people too scared to stand up.

“Did you do it because you were scared,” he finally asked, “or because you believed in him?”

Draco didn’t respond for a moment, opting instead to take a large swig of beer. “I believed in the idea,” he said at last, “but not the methods. It wasn’t worth the price.”

Percy nodded, content with the answer. Draco had made mistakes—but so had he. He decided to take him as a drinking partner. 

Draco stared at him for a moment before cocking an eyebrow and smirking. “You know something, Weasley? You’re like me. I’m never satisfied.”

Percy frowned. “What do you mean?”

Draco stared straight ahead. “The war’s over, we’re both alive and out of prison… but there’s more we want.” He turned to face Percy. “We’re greedy enough to want another chance. A do-over.”

“I don’t need a do-over,” Percy protested half-heartedly. “I’m content to keep going like this.”

Draco wasn’t fooled by the lie. “Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?”

Percy blinked his blue eyes. “Of course I do.”

Draco’s smile was bitter. “Then trust me, a do-over is exactly what you want. To fix things for the others.”

Percy thought about that for a moment, and eventually had to admit that the other man was right. He finished his glass. “I’ve got the next round.”

  
  


Weeks turned into months, and Percy and Draco grew closer than ever. They shared many a drink together, and Percy liked the fact that the younger man was difficult to figure out. 

He was happier. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who understood what it was like to be in that grey area between the “good” and “bad” guys. 

Not to say there weren’t obstacles—a former Death Eater was an easy target in society, but Percy did his best to make Draco forget about those mistakes when they were together. For the most part, it worked; the blond’s smiles grew more and more frequent as time passed. Things began to make sense again.

His family was a bit wary of the man himself, but seemed to trust his judgement. Ron, however, was a different story. 

“I just don’t get it, Percy,” he admitted one night in the sitting room of the Burrow. “Malfoy’s a right git.”

“People can change,” Percy reminded his youngest brother. “I did.”

Ron flushed scarlet. “You really like him?”

Percy didn’t look up from his book, but a small grin crossed his features. “Yeah. Reckon I do.”

Ron was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed. “Well, Merlin knows I’m not going to stop you. Just… give me a bit to get used to it?” He grimaced slightly. “If I need to start treating him like family, I’m going to have to put some things behind me.”

Percy looked up, confused. “Like family?”

Ron chuckled and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Taking it slow, then? Well. Have fun tonight, anyway.”

Percy watched Ron leave the room, a frown on his face. He didn’t have long to dwell on it, though—he had to meet Draco at the Leaky shortly. After a few more minutes of reading, Percy grabbed the Floo powder off the mantle and stood in front of the hearth. He tossed it in, stepped into the green flames, and vanished. 

  
  


Percy thought he might drown in his terror. 

This hadn’t been the plan. They’d planned a nice evening, but now he was waiting in St. Mungo’s, hoping against hope that Draco was going to wake up. 

He should never have left to use the loo. It was too crowded a place, too full of drunk patrons filled with liquid courage. And Draco was the easiest target there. 

Percy shuddered. He could still remember their shouts of  _ Death Eater scum! _ and  _ vile little blood purist!— _ and then the jets of lights had gone flying. He put his head in his hands. He didn’t want to remember it, but he couldn’t push the memory aside. 

Thankfully, he was ushered to Draco’s bedside soon after. 

Bruised eyes flickered open as Percy sat beside him, finding his hand and gripping it in a gesture that was both unfamiliar and  _ right _ . “Hey,” he whispered softly, “hey. Just take a deep breath, I’ve got you now.”

The blond laughed weakly, a strange look in his eyes. “I know.” He winced at the movement, and tried to reassure Percy when the latter tightened his grip. “Just a bruise. Merlin, by the way they were duelling, you’d think they thought I was going to start a bloody revolution.”

Percy’s lips thinned. “I really thought—for a moment, I was sure—”

“Weasley,” Draco interrupted suddenly. “I’m staying here.” A pale, scratched hand reached up and cupped Percy’s cheek, pulling him down. Their noses were very nearly touching now, and a small smile was playing on Draco’s lips; Percy felt his heartbeat quicken. “Are you?”

Percy responded by closing the distance between them; he wasn’t going to run this time. 

The kiss only lasted a few seconds; Draco broke away with a hiss. Percy gripped his hands tightly. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong!”

Draco nodded weakly towards his wrist; the numbers there were decreasing. “The Healers promised they’d stabilize,” he muttered. “Now, come here—”

Buzzing filled Percy’s ears; the numbers were getting too low. He glanced towards his own wrist. His mother’s words came back to him:  _ you just know. _ He thought of his terror when Draco had been attacked, of how scared he still was—Ron, he realized, thought they were already together—

Understanding dawned in Draco’s eyes. “After one kiss, Weasley?” But his voice was hushed. 

Percy gripped the man’s hand without answering. He concentrated. 

Both men watched in amazed silence as Draco’s numbers flipped up once; Percy’s flipped down. It happened again—twice. Three times. Four.

The color was beginning to return to Draco’s cheeks, bit by bit. The Slytherin looked at a loss as to how to react. 

Percy chuckled, his eyes not leaving the numbers. “I guess we were the last to know.” 

Strangely, it wasn’t surprising, the knowledge that what he felt for Draco was love. It wasn’t even surprising that the other man felt the same way. What shocked him was the fact that they had both unconsciously made the decision to stand by one another—and that they were bound to keep that promise. 

He looked into Draco’s eyes. “I suppose I should tell you I love you.”

There it was—that smirk. Beaten down, but still so genuine. “I suppose so. Remind me to do the same when these potions have worn off.”

Percy grinned. That, he could do.


End file.
